by Muhammad YUSUF
Oh, my father’s birthplace,
My lovely motherland,
Let me lay my soul on your shade.
Uzbekistan,
You are the most benignant,
You are so great,
For Rome– your clover-field – I cannot trade.
The Earth is covered with water and slopes,
I saw many countries, fates and hopes,
Your mountains uphold me and follow,
Asking to be proud high and low.
I met the most adorable white hands,
It seems I am naïve or a self-lover –
Since for me the best Paris restaurants
Before your tandoor are out of favor.
I’m stubborn,
I can’t speak a foreign language,
I don’t sleep and comfort leaves my mind –
What to do in three days if I anguish?
Will remain unfinished all the ride.
I perceive that you are my most sublime,
I accept this soil the closest stop.
A lamb that’s born in Bakhmal in springtime
To me is better than the Arabian antelope.
Each day I spend with you is a big fete,
Without you I’m scared, I’m full of worry.
I welcome those who know you and respect,
For those who don’t know you I feel sorry.
( Translated by A’zam Obid)
